Free The Cold Edge by Trevor Scott Page A

transaction. That’s what he liked. And that’s what he needed after being shot at.
    Now, laying awake at zero three hundred, the tall blonde naked Swedish goddess snoring lightly at his side, Reed thought about his old friend Jake Adams, who was still up on Spitsbergen Island. He hadn’t been truthful with Jake, and that did bother him.
    Jake was supposed to call him hours ago for an update. When that call didn’t come, Reed had contacted the charter helicopter service he had arranged for them. They had not returned to Longyearbyen yet, but that didn’t concern them, since the pilot was experienced and they had brought plenty of warm weather gear, including sleeping bags that went down to fifteen below zero. They were also armed. Reed wasn’t sure why the man had told him that. They both agreed to wait until noon the next day, this day now, before they would send someone out to look for them. The weather was clear and had been displaying amazing Aurora Borealis, which was strange for that time of year. They were far more prominent in the winter. But that had also made Colonel Reed understand why Jake had not called him on the SAT phone. The Boreal activity had probably wiped out the SAT communications. He was sure Jake was all right. A more capable man the colonel had not met.
    The woman at his side rolled over, exposing her tight body to him, her perfect round breasts rubbing up against his arm. God, he would have never been able to get a woman that hot no matter how many dinners he had paid for—unless he was rich. He smiled thinking about having more money. More money than he would ever have dreamed possible.
    A hand reached down and grasped his erection, stroking it gently.
    â€œSomeone’s awake,” the woman said.
    What was her name? Who cared. It was fake anyway. Names were a pain in the ass.
    â€œYou were snoring,” the colonel said.
    With one hand she stroked a rubber onto him. Then she rolled onto him and with one smooth motion was filled completely by him. A real pro. That’s what he liked. He grasped her breasts as she rode him with great enthusiasm and precision. And he held out longer than normal, thinking about the cold edge of Svalbard.

    Oslo, Norway
    McLean had gotten back to Edinburgh, cleared his travel with MI6 headquarters at Vauxhall Cross in London, and booked his travel. The only caveat was that he bring his associate, Velda Crane. He had protested, knowing that she had some kind of obsession with him, and that could cloud her judgment, but she had proven herself quite capable to Vauxhall. She also had friends and benefactors there who could send Jimmy to an assignment far less comfortable than his native land. That little half-pint had even suggested Turkey or Iraq—two places he had no desire to see again.
    Their plans had changed late the night before, when McLean had gotten word that his contact, Gary Dixon, had purchased a ticket to Oslo—the red eye. Velda had hurried to Glasgow to get on the same flight as Dixon, and McLean had taken a different route, flying to London to pick up a diplomatic pouch and then going on to Oslo, getting in an hour before Dixon and his associate.
    Sitting now near the arrivals gate for the Glasgow to Oslo flight, Jimmy McLean watched over the top of his newspaper as the passengers streamed out and down the concourse corridor, their eyes like zombies from the night flight. It wasn’t hard for him to see Gary Dixon shuffle along, a carry-on bag over his shoulder. Bringing up the rear was Velda, her little legs doing their best to keep up, and her gaze catching McLean, who smiled at her.
    McLean caught up to her and walked a few paces behind Velda. “Glad to see you made it.”
    â€œCrappy flight. Hot as hell. No air. We going to get some local support?”
    â€œNIS says they can’t spare an officer.” NIS was the Norwegian Intelligence Service, the MI6 counterpart.
    â€œGreat. I gotta